


Contact

by flowersforgraves



Series: hc_bingo round 8 [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen, mentions of physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: In which John needs to be touched, and can't trust himself.prompt: touch-starved





	Contact

John leans against the table, all his weight on one leg, arms folded across his chest. He’s watching Teyla and Rodney play a game of Athosian counters. Rodney’s frustrated that he’s not winning -- this is a game Rodney hasn’t played enough to know how to win all the time yet. Not that he hasn’t tried, or that he hasn’t roped John into playing with him.

John definitely doesn’t react to Ronon’s near-silent approach by shrieking when Ronon says, “Hey,” low and quiet next to his ear. The noise (which _wasn’t_ a shriek) made Rodney jump and Teyla raise an eyebrow at him, but that’s all.

He puts a hand over his heart. “Jesus, Ronon, you scared the crap out of me,” he says, feeling his heart race. “I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“Sorry,” Ronon says, and John can hear the grin in his voice. “What’re they doing?” He steps closer to John, invading his space. 

John automatically tenses, expecting some sort of contact. But Ronon doesn’t touch him, just stops so close John can practically feel his breath.

His hands are shaking.

He tries not to push back into Ronon’s solid warmth behind him, tries not to move at all really, just in case whatever he does makes Ronon step away. It’s been a long, long time since anyone’s been so close to him, touched him, without intent to hurt.

There had been his father. He remembers a slap across the face, the ring cutting his cheek. He remembers being yelled at until he cried, then yelled at some more. He remembers trying to shield Dave from injury, and being repaid with Dave neglecting to protect him back.

There had been his first boyfriend. He remembers being grabbed hard and dragged across the room by his hair. He remembers slaps there too, thankfully ringless. Didn’t mean they didn’t hurt, though.

There had been his Air Force buddies. Those didn’t hurt so much, because they didn’t want him injured. They just wanted to show him they cared, but because of the culture of the military, there were things you just _didn’t do_ with your buddies. Things like hugs. Things like being held when you were coming down from a nightmare or flashback. Things like punching out a guy because he’d made a gay joke, because you’d be targeted next.

There had been the Wraith, and the Genii. He remembers torture. He remembers watching the life being sucked out of his companions, their faces twisted in a rictus of pain. He remembers the feeling of a knife piercing his skin.

Ronon’s hand comes down on his shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie. “Sheppard? You good?”

He startles a bit, and Ronon tightens his grip. “Sheppard?” he repeats.

“Yeah, Ronon,” John says. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ronon takes one foot back and leans his forearms on John’s shoulders, clasping his hands in front of John’s throat. “Sure?”

“I’m fine,” John repeats. Maybe if he says it enough times he’ll start to believe it.


End file.
